


my ghost(where'd you go?)

by robinlikeitshot



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: (no graphic smut), Angst, Hate Sex, I Made Myself Cry, M/M, They love each other, Unhealthy Relationships, they're just very fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25158226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinlikeitshot/pseuds/robinlikeitshot
Summary: "I love you."(IhateyouIhateyouI-)“No you don’t.”No, he doesn’t. Tim knows that. Tim knows that Jason knows Tim knows that. Because Tim loves a boy that’s buried six feet underground, the haunting glass case that still stands proudly in the cave, ’a good soldier’,the bright red-green-yellow flitting through the lens of a polaroid.But Jason Todd died six years ago, so Tim supposes that the Red Hood will just have to do.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 17
Kudos: 157





	my ghost(where'd you go?)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by Halsey's 'ghost': https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ao4o-XRU_KM  
> so one of the themes that a lot of jaytim fics have is jason being worried that tim only loved the pre-death version of him and hes not that person anymore and so on. usually that ends up with tim being like nah i still love u or smth along those lines, but then this song came on and i thought, but what if he didnt? and this was born  
> . oo and shoutout to dumble-daddy over on tumblr for betaing, she did an amazing job into turning this legible  
> WARNINGS: these two are pretty fucked up in this, and they do hurt each other physically whilst being in a relationship, so if this is a trigger for you i would suggest not reading this as its a central theme of this fic. they are both of age(jasons 21 and tims 19), and everything is one hundred percent consensual.  
> Enjoy:)

Another bloodied body hits the ground in front of him, the sound of Jason's gun deafening in his ears. There's more red pooling at his feet, staining his boots. It's going to be a pain to get out.

The sound of silence is far more startling than the gunshots that previously occupied its space, and Tim's head jerks up as Jason places a slick glove on his cheek.

The first thing he notices is that he's not wearing his helmet. He'd had it on when Tim had first landed in the alley, drawn by the sounds on the com of the man trying to incapacitate fifteen at once. He hadn't been able to move, though, when the man pulled out his gun and started aiming just a bit too accurately.

But now he's not even wearing his domino. There are no witnesses, anyway, so Tim allows it when Jason pulls his cowl off too, pressing his lips to his own, hard. 

He allows it, when Jason pushes him to the wall, doesn't flinch when he accidentally trips on a body. He wonders what that says about him.

And when Jason pulls back, teeth in his grin as he leans in and asks, "What, Replacement? Not going to tell me off?"-

There are fifteen corpses surrounding them. There's blood on his boots. Tim wonders what it says about him when all he does is look down, brushing his hand over the other's red-brown sleeve. "You've got blood on your jacket."

He wonders what it says about him that the smile Jason gives him at that makes him feel more than when he watched the same man's hand wrench a knife through the ribs of the body lying at his feet.

_________

"You're kidding, right?"

Tim does his best to ignore Jason's teasing tone from behind him as he tries to concentrate on the case file in front of him. He'd let the man borrow his couch due to his injury proving him immobile for the foreseeable future, but nowhere in their agreement did it say Tim had to respond to his constant ribbing.

"You really haven't ever been with a guy before, have you?" the awed tone in the man's voice rubs him the wrong way, and he turns around to deliver a retort, only for it to die in his throat as his eyes lock with the dark look in Jason's own.

Suddenly, he's all the more aware of Jason's undress- a necessity, due to the thick bandages looping around his torso, but right now that's not what the part of Tim's mind that has seemed to dedicate itself to the worship of the man in front of him is focussing on.

"I- no." He tries to hide his swallow when Jason gets up, tries to tell him that he shouldn't be aggravating his injuries so soon. But the man's too close, too fast, and the adequately sized safehouse seems just a bit too small for Tim to be able to get the air he needs to speak.

Jason's still staring at him, even as his burning touch brushes his hip, hot breath rushing across his ear as he murmurs, "You wanna change that?"

Tim gives in so easily it’s embarrassing, but the payoff is _definitely_ worth it.

_________

"You promised, Jason!"

Their arguing has set the cave echoing, and all it's inhabitants scattering, all but the bats that carpet the high ceilings. Damian's hiding in the showers, has been in there for the past twenty minutes, not that he'd ever admit it, and Dick had left after his attempts at peace had been blown off the second time.

"Oh fuck off, Bruce. Would you rather I'd have let the kid die? Another glass case to place in the middle of your trophies?" Jason's words are angry, and when they're angry they're hurtful, worming through the Bat's impenetrable armor to hit right where it hurts. Tim thinks he can see Bruce visibly recoil at that, from his place behind the turn of the corridor. _Stalker_.

"Get out of here," Bruce says, and if he were a lesser man Tim knows he'd shout. But he's not, something that pisses Jason off because he sneers, pulling out more words like they're deadly knives, the lead bullets he's so fond of.

"Kicking me out? Thought you said that this was my _home_ , Pops."

Tim's heart stutters in his chest as he watches Bruce clench his fist, but all he does is turn around and walk away, still donning his full armor, and up the stairs to the manor. The message is obvious. 

Jason stares for a moment too long after his retreating back before turning around, boots thundering against the cave floor as he makes his way past Tim to where his bike is leaning.

Before he can get there, get on his bike and drive away and disappear again for god knows how long, Tim grabs his arm. Ignoring the way the man visibly tenses, Tim steps in front of him.

"Wait, Jay." It was the wrong thing to say because the man's eyes flash green, luminous and bright in a way that reminds him uncomfortably of immortal assassins with a problem with heirs. There's nothing Tim can do to stop the fist that makes contact with his cheek, the force slamming him into the wall of the corridor.

He braces his arm for any oncoming attacks, coughing a bit to get some of the dust that's gathered on his face from his impromptu meeting with the ground out of his mouth, but it doesn't come. Just a soft hand cupping his cheek, brushing off some of the dirt as the fingers probe for anything broken.

He must not find anything, but when Tim looks up, Jason's eyes are still filled with blue guilt. Before he can stop him, he says, "I'm sorry, Re- Tim."

The name tugs at something ugly inside him, so he just pushes it down as he grabs Jason's hand again, keeping it pressed up against his cheek. "Please. Don't go, Jason."

Jason's eyes are mournful as he pushes their lips together, deceptively soft. "Okay."

He doesn't even get a note the next morning(but Tim can't say he's surprised).

_________

Jason's been getting more and more wound up with every question, but Tim doesn't notice as he picks up another case-file from the stained coffee table.

"Oh, you're working on the Garcinda's case too? I think Dick was making a bit of headway into it, you could ask him about it, he would probably be up to partnering with you- " he gets distracted by another one, underneath his helmet. He picks it up, absentmindedly tucking it underneath his arm as he rifles through it.

"Hey, isn't this-" It's only the fact that Tim's learned to never let his guard down around this man that he's able to block the knife hurtling towards his temple.

There's a moment, right after, when they're both silent, the papers slipping out of Tim's hand and drifting to the floor as they both stare at the blade eight inches deep in the bright red metal of Jason's hood. At the blade that would have been sunk in a very different type of red had Tim's reflexes been even a millisecond slower.

When he looks up, he sees Jason still staring at the knife, hand frozen in his throw. His face is drained of color, and Tim frowns, steps forward. 

"Are you alright, Jay?"

Jason stumbles back at the sound of his voice, and Tim tries not to let it hurt him. "You should go," he whispers but it's louder than if he could have shouted it, the words traveling and growing in the empty hollowed space of the apartment.

Tim doesn't understand. He takes another step forward, frown growing as Jason takes another step away. "Why?"

Jason looks at him as if he's insane. Then his face twists and Tim notices how his hands skim down to the holster on the side of his thigh, tapping against the metal there, fidgeting. Tim doesn't understand. "Because I'm dangerous, because you-" he takes another step back, and Tim doesn't understand that either because he hadn't come any closer-

"-because you keep getting hurt, Tim." He slides open the window behind him and Tim's heart gets stuck in his throat as he watches him from across the room, the distance the man had been putting between them making more sense now. "I keep-" There's a spare domino over his eyes now- "I keep hurting you."

Tim doesn't understand(because the only times Jason hurts him are when he leaves, so why does he keep _leaving_ ).

_________

Tim gets up a few minutes later, pulling on his clothes and ignoring the eyes that belong to a boy far older than he should be piercing into his back. Without a word, he walks over to his computer and begins outlining his report for the night, trying to avoid looking at the man reflected in his bright screen.

“What, not one for post-coital cuddles, Replacement?” Jason’s voice is rough, scratched and deep. Tim hesitates for a moment before continuing to type.

“Not with you.” 

He can hear Jason’s amusement, even as the man gets up, slowly beginning to re-strap on the armor that had been carelessly thrown on the floor in their adrenaline-fueled fuck. 

He forces himself not to startle at the feeling of hot breath at the back of his neck, fingers stilling. 

“That’s fair,” Jason, no, _Hood_ , murmurs, behind him, gloved hand trailing up to Tim’s neck, to that scar. He traces it, the rough kevlar catching on the slight groove, and Tim’s breath absolutely does not hitch when the hand _presses_. It doesn’t, and the pressure alleviates after a single moment.

He stays like that, hands frozen on his keyboard, and pointedly not turning at the click of the window closing.

After a minute, he continues his typing.

_________

“I hate you.” They’re standing on the top of a decrepit building two blocks from City Hall, surveilling the busy street bustling with Gotham’s nightlife beneath them. It’s the first thing Tim’s said in twenty minutes and it seems almost fitting that the loud scream of a siren immediately starts wailing to the south of where they’re stationed.

Jason throws a lopsided grin his way, slightly bloodied with the punch he’d taken before Tim had caught up to him trying to take twenty on one. Reckless. “No you don’t.”

No, he doesn’t. Tim knows that. Tim knows that Jason knows Tim knows that. He still says it, for the slight sliver of deniability it offers him. 

But Tim doesn’t hate him. Doesn’t hate him for the blood, the tears, the pain the other has gifted him with over their long history. Because how can he not forgive the murderer that carries his hero’s face? How can he not forgive Hood for playing Jason all so well?

Sometimes Tim wishes he didn’t. Wishes he could leave, could rip himself out of the tangled mess that is _them_. Wishes he could wash himself of the red that clings to him like a second skin. 

But the phantom colors of green and yellow hang too close, too near for Tim to let him go, and so Tim closes his eyes, palms his grapple, and follows the bright red hood streaking across the skyline.

_________

If Tim were more poetic, he’d say that they were meant to be together. He’s not, though, so instead he just watches as Jason wipes Tim’s blood from his cheek. 

It’s red, lurid and bright. He suppresses the laugh that wants to rise in him at the irony of it all, _red_ , but he must not have succeeded because Jason sends him a strange look as he threads the needle.

If Tim were more poetic, he’d say that there was beauty in the fact that it’s this man standing between his legs as he perches on the bathroom counter, stitching up a wound he’d placed there himself. He’s not though, so he just bites his tongue and avoids Jason’s sea-green eyes, filled with remorse, regret, awe, pride.

Because pain isn’t beauty, and all he can think as Jason pulls the thread through his cheek is that it _hurts_. He hopes it doesn’t scar, though he supposes the elder would be happy if it would. Another mark he’d left on Tim’s life, another scar, another bloody chapter in Tim’s book of regrets (but he would do them all over again, for him).

If Tim were more poetic, he’d say that he loved Jason, loved his red and his pain and his terrifying smile. He’d say that the pain brought clarity, the only bright light in the whole of this stinking city. But. He’s not, he’s not. 

He’s not, and no matter how many times he tries to justify himself, no matter how many times the pain clouds his mind till all his thoughts are snatched from him, leaving him lying in the weight of Jason’s shadow, no matter how many times he’s stared at a dead boy’s face and wished for something more than a perverted ghost beneath, he can’t. He can’t seem to stop.

Can’t seem to stop coming back, for the beautiful eyes that are heavy lidded beneath long lashes, as Jason ties the thread off, smearing some of the blood on his cheek. There’s some on the man’s lip, like a sick parody of cosmetics, and Tim should mention it to him, but the weight of the purposefully jagged stitches lining his jaw are a heavy reminder of what he’s doing. Of the danger he’s playing with. Except that it’s not a game and the risks are all too real, the consequences of indulging in this, in this body in front of him, are bound to catch up with him one day.

Tim can’t help but wonder, as he licks the metallic taste off the other’s lips, hands winding in sweat soaked hair, if it’ll be anything as terribly wonderful as this. 

_________

“I love you.” 

Jason pauses in the middle of cleaning his gun, the dismantled pieces set neatly on the table in front of him. Tim watches curiously from his place on the couch as the man picks another piece up, as he answers almost quietly, “No you don’t.”

No, he doesn’t. Tim knows that. Tim knows that Jason knows Tim knows that. Because Tim loves a boy that’s buried six feet underground, the haunting glass case that still stands proudly in the cave, _’a good soldier’_ , the bright red-green-yellow flitting through the lens of a polaroid. 

But Jason Todd died six years ago, so Tim supposes that the Red Hood will just have to do.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u liked it! i might write more of this verse later on, but for rn its just a one shot  
> if u think there's anything else you'd like me to tag, pls do feel free to ask me down in the comments  
> if this made u sad and u want to yell at me, you can find me on tumblr at robinlikeitshot :)


End file.
